


Love Bites

by Schwoozie



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Cunnilingus, Daryl sucks at first aid, F/M, First Time, Floor Sex, One Shot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-13
Updated: 2015-02-13
Packaged: 2018-03-12 06:48:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3347540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schwoozie/pseuds/Schwoozie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beth gets bitten, but not in the way you'd expect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Bites

**Author's Note:**

> There's really no one I can blame this on; this one is all on me. Thanks to Mary for beta'ing :)

Beth holds tight to the handle of her knife, trying not to grin too obviously.

It's her first time outside the fences since she first entered them, and even in those short months she forgot the world was so big. She forgot the smell of the woods, too, the sound of dry leaves beneath her boots, the easy twitter of birds above her head. She knows it's dangerous to be out here, and not something to be taken lightly, and she wouldn't trade her time with Judith for anything. But still, it's nice. Nice to be here, to be trusted. Even if most of her family doesn't think she should be.

One of the few who do is at her side, walking so quietly it’s clear he isn’t as enthused about the crunching leaves as she is. He shoots her a look whenever she steps in a particularly large pile and lets out a giggle, but it doesn't feel hostile; it just feels like a look. It feels like Daryl Dixon has been looking at her a lot lately.

She never expected Daryl of all people to volunteer to go with her beyond the fences. She'd planned on it being Rick; schemed it, a little, making sure he knew exactly how well she took care of his baby before raising the topic. But when she followed him into the cantina where Hershel and Maggie were having lunch, he said straight up it wouldn't be him; that he's retired, he rusty, he wouldn't risk her life like that. That he just wanted to _raise the issue_ , he said, like she was some kind of business plan. She'd been well on the way to getting angry when Daryl walked in, took one look at her face, and volunteered.

It'd been a bit of chaos after that, most of it from Maggie. Not that she didn't _trust_ Daryl, of course, or thought Beth was _weak_ , oh no—she didn't want to _inconvenience_ him, making him babysit her baby sister. He hadn't even given her the time to get pissed; just said, in that rough, quiet voice of his that there's a cabin he wanted to check out tomorrow, an easy thing, wouldn't be no trouble. He'd have her back by sunset with a few walker notches on her belt to boot.

(He hadn't said that last bit to Maggie; had told Beth later when she ran him down to thank him, when he said he wouldn't take no freeloaders and she better expect to pull her own weight. She hadn't said anything; just pulled out the knife the size of her forearm she'd snuck from the armory, weighed it in her palm and smirked. She couldn't quite decipher the look on his face, but she would bet a whole deer that part of it at least was impressed).

And now they're walking silently through the woods, his eyes on her every few moments, on the woods the rest of it, never looking at his feet and yet making less sound than the cicadas buzzing in the air.

“Thanks again, Daryl, for doing this,” she says, just to hear the sound of her voice echoing off trees instead of walls. She feels another smile build on her face, but tries to quash it, for Daryl's sake. She feels he doesn't take too kindly to exuberant emotion.

As expected, he grunts and shrugs, rolling his shoulders above that great black crossbow. “Ain't nothin',” he says. She expects that'll be it, but he keeps speaking. “Your sister's an idiot, thinkin' you'd be better off never being out here again. You made it through the winter same as the rest of us, no reason you should get soft.”

Beth feels her cheeks pink at his praise, as indirect as it might be. She hides it by turning to look at a squirrel nest, large and sprawling in the boughs of a tree.

“Shawn had a pet squirrel once,” she says. She looks back at Daryl. He has that look in his eyes, tells her he thinks she's cracked, but it just makes her want to giggle again. “He found him in the woods behind the house. An eagle must have gotten him by the leg or something, cause the whole thing was torn off. He was barely breathing when Shawn brought him home. He knew Maggie would tell our parents so he and I stole all we needed by ourselves, sewed him up the best we could. Took a week for Mama to catch us. He jumped at her when she came in Shawn’s room to clean, scared her half to– ya know, he scared her.” She feels Daryl's eyes on her, but she just swallows, doesn't look. She smiles, a little forced. “Whenever I see a squirrel I always think of my mama standing there, face white as a sheet as she yelled at us about rabies. We told her we know what rabid squirrels look like, but she went on for a while anyway. Took Daddy coming home to calm her down.”

For a few minutes there's no sound but Beth's footsteps and the woods. A walker gurgles somewhere in the distance, but since Daryl doesn't tense up, Beth figures it's far enough away not to bother them.

“What happened to the squirrel?” Daryl asks suddenly. He isn't looking at her, but it makes her smile, that he cares enough to ask.

“Daddy fixed our patch job and let him stay in the barn. Got buried next to all the family dogs when he died. A real honor, you know.”

“Hmmph,” Daryl says, swinging himself over a log in their path. It takes Beth a little longer to get over it. He doesn't make a move to help, but he doesn't keep walking either.

“You ever had any pets?”

“Nah,” he says. A few beats. He glances at her, then away, quickly. “Not really,” he says. “Was a pitty came around for scraps sometimes. Biggest tits I ever seen on a dog that size.”

Beth wrinkles her nose. “You notice that kinda thing?”

“Sorta hard to miss.”

“Did you name her?”

“Nah. Only a few months 'fore my dad shot her.” Beth stops walking. Daryl keeps going a few steps; when he realizes she isn't following, he pauses, turns around with furrowed brows. “What?”

“Your dad _shot_ her? Why?”

Daryl shrugs. “Why not?” She stares at him a few more moments before his ears pink, and he turns away. “You comin' or what?” he grumbles. For a few steps she can hear his feet on the ground.

By the time she catches up with him she can see their goal through the trees. It's small enough, she can't imagine it's got more than one room. She notices Daryl's raised his crossbow and started walking in a crouch, so Beth hefts her knife, tries to step a little quieter.

They approach the cabin silently; Daryl jerks his chin, and she nods, heading the left way around while he goes the right. When she finds him on the other side, he's peering in through a filthy window, shading his view from the glare. He doesn't look up when she stops beside him. She figures he knows her footsteps by now.

“Don't look like anyone's been here for a while. We go in through the back—“

“OW!”

Beth's leg collapses beneath her and she falls heavily into the cabin. Daryl moves faster than she's ever seen him, bow down and leg blurred as it slams into something in the grass.

Beth doesn't spare much thought for Daryl, though. There's a weird sense of pressure behind her knee, and she gasps as pain begins spiking down her calf. She grabs her leg, doubled over.

“What the—“

“Fuckin' cottonmouth,” Daryl growls, grinding his boot into the dirt. Beth follows his gaze and finds his shoe pressing on the crushed head of a snake, the rest of its body twitching feebly in its death throes.

Beth attempts to push off the wall of the cabin but gasps again as the world tilts and spins; when she's next aware, she's dangling, Daryl's hard arms wrapped around her. She looks around, squinting through her blurred vision, just as he kicks in the door of the cabin. Even in her confused state and the building nausea, Beth can hear the tell-tale gurgles and rasps coming from the interior.

“Daryl, walkers—“

“I'll get 'em.” He grunts as he drops her into a rickety chair, movements more gentle than she'd expect; she grips the seat of the chair, eyes squeezed shut against the nausea, as he moves away from her. It takes mere minutes for him to dispatch the walkers, drag them outside, and be back at her side; she feels the weight of his hand on her shoulder, pinky just brushing the skin at the edge of her shirt, as he kneels before her.

“Where is it?”

“Left,” Beth grits out. He takes hold of her ankle and lifts the limb, turning it gently. She feels his fingers brush against the fleshy part of her calf, right below the knee, and she hisses.

“Yeah, it got you,” he mutters.

After nearly a minute of silence Beth cracks her eyes open and her companion swims into focus. He's knelt between her legs, worrying his lip as he stares down at her calf. The snake must have twisted as it pulled out; there’s so much blood, it’s gotta be way more than just a pair of puncture wounds. Beth watches as the red patch on her jeans spreads. Her heart flutters at the sight, and she feels woozy again.

“What do we do?” she asks, swiping at her dripping forehead. Daryl glances at her, tongue darting across his lips. He seems to come to a decision.

“Take your pants off.” When she doesn't move, he sets her leg down and begins tugging at her boots. The sound the first one makes as it thunks to the floor spurs her to action. Beth's fingers go to the button of her jeans, but she can't quite get her numb hands to catch—sometime since Daryl set her down she's begun shaking and now she can't stop.

“Hey.” Daryl's hands land on top of hers, his palms a little damp, and she stops, looking at him. His eyes are startlingly in focus in the midst of her blurred vision. He's peering at her carefully from between her legs, in a way that makes her already pounding heart skip a beat. “Your body's in shock, but you're gonna be fine. Merle got bit worse than this dozens of times and none'a them did him in.”

“Why does it sound like you're tryin' to convince yourself too?” Beth mutters.

“Beth, you're gonna be fine.” He squeezes her hands, his own warm even as they tremble a little. “Ya hear me, girl?”

“Yes,” she whispers, blinking rapidly in an attempt to clear her sight. She takes a deep breath. With Daryl's fingers still light on her wrists, she regains control of her hands and pulls down the zipper. Daryl takes hold of the fabric around her hips, helping her drag the material down her thighs and off. She hisses as it scrapes across the bite, and Daryl gives her other calf a comforting squeeze.

“You're alright,” he says under his breath. He grabs his water bottle and wets the rag from his back pocket, then takes hold of her still-socked foot, tilting her leg again. Beth bites her lip as he swipes carefully at the wound. She's surprised to see that the tear is wide, but not deep; the blood is already slowing, although the skin remains red and inflamed.

“Doesn't look too bad,” Daryl says, still almost to himself. He keeps his eyes on the wound, running a thumb around the edges. “Probably didn't even release too much.”

“Why'm I feeling like this, then?”

“Whatever's in you works fast.” He hesitates, eyes flicking like he wants to look at her, but refraining. “Should get it out, still.”

Beth's heart jumps. “What, you mean with a knife?”

Daryl's eyes do jump to her then, and she almost wishes they didn't. There's something in them that makes her squirm, makes her really feel the cool air on her bare thighs.

“Nah,” he says. “Gotta draw it.”

“Draw it?”

“Suck. I gotta suck it out.”

“Oh.”

Oh.

Beth swallows, trying not to look nervous, not notice how suddenly her thoughts flew to his lips, the arch of his throat as he swallows—to her panties, worn nearly translucent and mere feet from his face. He isn't looking at her again, head tilted down as he inspects the wound. His cheeks are bright red, though. It's harder to see, through the dirt and his tan, but he is bright red.

Beth grips the edges of the chair, looking at the man between her legs, the skin around the wound tingling from the poison or his touch or both at once. His fingers are still there, tracing the ridges, rubbing away fresh blood as it trickles from her flesh. She hasn't showered in several days, and the red merges with the grime of her skin.

She makes her decision with a jerk of her leg, pulling it up from his grasp and towards his face. His hand tightens around her ankle and he looks up at her. She slides lower in the chair, pulling her leg higher and effectively spreading her legs wider, giving him more room between them. His eyes flick down, and he swallows.

“Come on,” she says. Her voice is hoarse, but she manages a small smile, joking weakly, “Ain't gonna suck itself.”

The look on Daryl's face is too intense for this situation, hot in a way that makes her already weak body shudder. But the blood is still trickling across his fingers and her face is still washed out and damp, and she feels the resolve in the tightening of his hand as he lowers his mouth to her calf.

She nearly jerks out of his grasp, even the light touch of his mouth enough to aggravate her inflamed skin. He holds tight to her ankle, though, and drags her back; ignoring her muffled noises he seals his lips over the wound and brings his other hand under her thigh, keeping the leg turned towards him. He glances at her, settles himself on his knees; then, he begins to pull.

Beth can't help the way her mouth drops open or the clench of her fingers against the wood, not even the way her thigh tightens to steel under his hand. He keeps his tongue and teeth tucked carefully out of the way, but the suction of his mouth is intense on the sensitive flesh; her other knee drifts closer, brushing his back and then jumping as he sucks again, more intense than the first, long and deep, mouth pressing into her and tickling the back of her knee with his whiskers. He keeps his face turned from her as much as he can, but she doesn't miss the flush on his ears and the back of his neck; doesn't miss the way his fingers begin to drift across her flesh, the press of his thumbs. When he takes another, particularly harsh, draw, she can't stop the whimper that bursts from her throat; he looks at her, eyes heavy-lidded and dark as the shadowed walls and his eyes drift down just as her pussy clenches and she realizes what the liquid between her legs is. Her underwear is thin enough, she knows he sees the stain, knows he sees the muscles flex; she'd be mortified if his hands on her hadn't tightened close to pain, if his sucks hadn't gained in intensity as he gazes at the shadows of her crotch, the clench of her hands as she spreads her legs for him.

By the time he pulls his mouth from her, her sight has cleared and she's near panting; his throat rolls and he's spitting on the floor, a mix of blood and clear spit and his hands are still on her as he turns his eyes back to hers and leans down again, lapping the wound closed. When he pulls away, licking his lips, his hands are shaking, too.

“Daryl...”

“Feel alright?” he asks, raspy, like he's having trouble breathing. His hands have not moved from her skin; his fingers drift against her, gently, back and forth, ruffling the hairs on her legs. Beth's limbs are trembling.

“Little hot,” she says quietly. She bites her lip, and his eyes follow; she can't breathe as his eyes drift shut and open again, as he looks back to her panties, drags his gaze down her leg. The wind taps a branch against the window, but neither of them look.

When Daryl presses his lips to her leg, it is a little above the wound, right on the edge of its reddened circle. His mouth is just as open as it had been before, and the heat of his breath rolls against her; when his tongue comes down to taste her skin, Beth slumps further in the chair, breath fluttering.

“Alright?” Daryl whispers against her skin. His eyes are closed, his body tense, praying with every inch of his form—for her to push him away, to pull him close, to stab him through the temple and step over his crumpled body—she's with Zach, after all, she's supposed to be with Zach, although they've never kissed or touched beyond the brush of a hand, but it's what they expect, what the world in its violence needs, something young and love—not an older man's humid breath on Beth's clammy, creamy skin, his cracked knuckles squeezed white from the tension in them, her pussy untouched but leaking through her panties—it isn't supposed to be this way.

But god, does Beth want it. And from the way Daryl's whiskers tremble, the hush of his lips as he breathes—she thinks he wants it too.

“Don't think, Daryl,” Beth whispers. “Do what you want. To me. Do it to me.”

“Don't want anything,” Daryl says; then kisses her again. And again. And again, trailing from her calf to the crease of her knee, inhaling the sweat that's dried behind the joint before moving on, up her thigh, hand sliding along before him. His touch is trembling, unsure, but something pushes him on; just as something pushes Beth to slide farther down, farther, until her butt's barely clinging to the chair and her legs have spread as far as they will go. The pain in her leg is little more than a dull ache at this point, and the spin of her mind is nothing like it was before; where before the world had hazed, now it sharpens, tightening like a trap around Daryl's nipping teeth.

“Daryl,” Beth whispers. He's nuzzling at the fine hairs on the inside of her thigh, giving her just the prickles of his scruff as he comes down with light, fleeting kisses. He's breathing heavily, like she's breathing, and she realizes she can smell herself—something musty yet sweet. Daryl's nostrils flutter and he kisses her again, harder, right on the hard cord of muscle.

“Can smell you, girl,” Daryl says, almost in awe; Beth only whimpers as his arm moves to rest on her other leg, his hand to thumb her hipbone. He's rubbing his scruff against her now, reminding Beth of a great cat with his heavy-lidded eyes and the rumbles from his chest. He's looking at her stomach, and then down—and then he's pressing one kiss, then another, until he's at the very edge of her panties and she can feel the pressure of his cheek against her. She flushes down to her toes when she realizes he can feel her wetness on his ear as it brushes past, and when he kisses the band of her panties and tilts his cheek to lean on her covered, open pussy, she can't help letting out a long, low moan. Daryl is breathing heavily through his nose, short huffs that steam across her skin

“God, please,” she says, hardly knowing what she's asking for beyond _more_ , more of the cut of his eyes and the delicious fleeting pressure on her clit and the heat of his mouth as he moves onto her panties, kissing up the slope of her pussy lip until he's hovering right in the center, eye level with her clit where it pulses beneath the fabric, breathing her in like she's lilac in summer. “Daryl...”

“You want me to do this, Beth?” Daryl asks, and christ, she feels every word as if he had mouthed it against her bare cunt.

She doesn't answer beyond curling her knee around his shoulder. She bites her lip as the cold of his leather hits her wound, but doesn't mention it; when he looks up at her she's looking at him, and she hopes he finds in her gaze what he needs.

He seems to, because then his mouth is open, and she has one trembling moment of his breath rolling across her before he's pressing his parted mouth to her open lips.

The pressure of Beth's teeth on her lip grows as Daryl mouths up and down her slit, taking his time, using only the flat of his tongue to press the fabric against her. Beth is trembling and she can't stop, not with the sight before her: Daryl's shaggy head dark and dirty between her white thighs, shining with sweat; his hands resting open-palmed on her legs, curled under the one on his shoulder and over the one at his side, its foot dragging restlessly against the floor. His eyes focus so intently on his work she imagines she can feel the heat of them, and she doesn't know if the burning is from him or from her own arousal.

He's breathing heavily against her, barely moving, dragging his mouth up and down, up and down, and Beth feels herself getting desperate.

“Daryl, please,” she whines. He stops moving and she worries for a moment how young she sounded; worries that the first time he saw her she was wearing a shirt she'd owned since first grade, that her father still calls her doodlebug, that he's heard him do it—

But then he's looking up at her and the barely-caged _need_ in his eyes drives the breath from her lungs.

“Please what?” he whispers, whiskers rustling.

“Stop teasin' and _do_ something.”

He breathes out heavily through his nose, sending an air stream directly across her clothed clit. Suddenly, he's drawing back, and she has only a moment of panicked worry before he's grabbing her dangling ankle with one hand and her panties with the other, bending her leg forcefully until he can get the band over her foot without moving from between her legs. He places her foot back on the floor, pressing at her knee until she's spread as far as she can go; he rubs his cheek against the panties still dangling from her other thigh, gazing at her pussy with heavy lidded eyes.

“Christ,” he breathes, closing his eyes for a moment like it's too much for him; then his hand is coming up and stroking the very edge of her curls, rubbing some of them between his fingers.

Beth squirms a bit. “I know it ain't so clean—“

Daryl snorts, making her jump. He looks up at her and he's smirking and lord, this man should do that with his mouth more often.

“Ya got crabs?”

Beth blinks. “What?”

“Crabs. The clap. What.”

Beth frowns. “Uhh, I don't think so?”

Daryl's smile softens, and something in that softness sinks into Beth's skin. Her shoulders slowly unclench as he ducks his head to nuzzle his nose against her, like an affectionate cat. Her hand moves of its own accord to touch his ear, the curve of it; he leans into her touch, kisses the crease of her thigh.

“Clean enough for me, then.”

And then he's touching her lips, spreading them with his thumb and forefinger. His eyes flick up and down, from her ass to her clit to her breasts heaving beneath her shirt. His mouth closes over her again.

This time Beth is better prepared for it, and doesn't jump like she did the first time. Instead, she sighs, allowing her head to fall back and trembling a little at the scratch of his scruff, the careful way he kisses around between her lips. The hand that had touched his ear sinks into his hair and holds him lightly, scratching at his scalp until he hums against her. The vibrations make her shiver violently; he glances at her and does it again, right at the base of her clit, and a breathy gasp erupts from her open mouth.

“Like that?” he murmurs, sucking an inner lip into his mouth and nibbling.

“You know I do,” she says, and she never thought she'd hear a voice like that emerge from her mouth—low and throaty and so adult it seems to surprise them both. Daryl's eyes flutter closed and he shuffles closer to her, moving onto his knees and re-situating his hold and licking the length of her cunt.

By the third time he does it, Beth is trembling again; when he moves on, licking sideways at the crease of her inner lips and nudging her clit with his nose, she moans lowly, hand tightening in his hair as something begins to trip around inside her.

He can't quite seem to reach her the way he wants to, though; he moves his fingers a few times, tilts his head and growls in frustration.

“Here,” he says, grabbing the hand out of his hair and pressing it to the top of her cunt. “Hold yourself for me.”

She thinks she's going to faint.

Slowly, she reaches down and spreads herself like he had been doing. It feels more intimate, somehow, to be holding onto herself, to see her hand against her own sopping curls as Daryl presses back in, fluttering his tongue between her inner lips.

“Daryl,” she whispers.

“I got you, girl,” he growls, probing her entrance with his tongue. She can't help the way her pussy clenches and he gasps as a seep of liquid lands flows into his mouth. His movements gain force, then, and he's actively sucking at her, drawing her juices like he had drawn the poison and she feels the tingle jump straight to the bite where it presses into his vest.

She's distracted for a moment, thinking that the responsible thing to do would be to stop and bandage it; stop for good, really, because lord this will make things complicated, her and him in an echoing prison and if they finish this there's no way she isn't doing this again—

And she does jump, this time, when his hand snakes up past his face to press into her clit, rolling the bud beneath the rough pads of his first two fingers.

“Oh Daryl,” she gasps, more breath than voice.

“I got you,” he repeats. He nudges her fingers with his nose, encouraging her to spread them wider, and then his tongue and hand switch places. He sinks his finger inside her as his tongue slips around her clit and the spike of arousal that shoots through Beth's spine is almost painful. He finally heaves her leg off the floor to dangle over his shoulder and she wraps her legs around him in a strangle hold, dragging him into her so forcefully he grunts. She groans loudly and a walker answers from outside but neither of them care, because now Daryl's adding a second finger and he's pumping in and out and sucking on her clit and Beth feels the lightning begin to spark between her hips.

“I wanna— oh lord, Daryl—“

“Come on, girl...”

She's dangling on the precipice, fingers making claws in the wooden chair and it will only be another moment—

And then she looks down and sees something that near stops her heart—his jeans hanging open, his cock hanging out, dark and thick and twisting in his desperate grip.

She comes gasping his name, fingers so tight on the seat her hand aches as her hips jump and stutter.

She's barely slumped in the chair before his fingers are pulled from inside her and his arm goes around her waist. He swings her out and around like a rag-doll, resting her on her back and ripping off his vest to ball beneath her head. She's still in a daze as he yanks his jeans down further and moves between her legs.

“Daryl—“

He freezes, his hand in mid-stroke around his dick as he prepared to push it inside her. Now he's looking at her guiltily, drowned in an air of panic.

“I'm sorry, I thought—“

Her hand coming to rest across his shuts him up nicely.

“Let me do it,” she whispers. Trembling, Daryl pulls his hand from his cock, rests it on her bent knee. Her fingers flutter up and down his dick, tracing a vein that pulses blue until he whimpers. “Never saw one up close before,” Beth says quietly, circling her fingers and giving a light, experimental tug.

“You ain't—fuck,” Daryl hisses as her knuckles his the underside of his head. “You, you ain't a virgin, are you?”

Beth bites her lip and shakes her head, eyes glued to his cock. “Did it once. It was dark though. Only lasted a minute.”

Daryl huffs, squeezing her knee as her strokes gain speed. “Gotta tell you, girl, I don't think I'll do much better.”

“Yes you will,” she says, giving him one last squeeze before swiping her thumb across the head, making him shudder. She settles back and spreads her legs wider, reaches for him.

He doesn't make her wait—just situates himself on his knees and grabs his cock once more, leans over her body and pushes inside.

They groan in unison this time. Beth arches into the stretch and the heat of him spread all across her, looping her arms around his neck as he presses his forehead to her shoulder, taking in short, gulping gasps.

“ _Christ,_ I ain't doing no better.”

“It's already better,” Beth whispers, pulling him back by the hair and kissing him.

He tastes of coffee and squirrel meat and something musty and male that makes her downright shake inside, especially when she feels a brush of wetness from his beard on her chin. There's no finesse in his kiss as he focuses on moving his hips, tortuously slow and shallow as he tries to reign himself in, make it last, make it good for her. It's that thought that has her grabbing his ass and hauling him forward so he sinks into her roughly, almost painful as his whole weight crushes her to the floor and she cries out in pleasure.

“Beth—“

“I don't care. Just wanna feel you,” she gasps, rolling her hips until he has to pin her down with a hand on her pelvis. She arches against it just to feel the pain in the press of his fingers, the bruises they must leave—he seems to be thinking the same, for he groans, gripping her harder and rolling his hips right back.

“A'right, a'right, god, Beth—“

“Com'mon, Daryl, just _fuck_ me—“

And after a moment, he does; strokes just as slow but far from shallow, pinning her to the ground before drawing out and pinning her again, long and deep and drawing moans from her throat like snake venom. He leans on his elbows with his hands in her hair, mouth open and hovering over hers as he watches her face; at first she thinks for pain and then just to watch, watch her writhe, her eyes shoot open and drop closed like they're balanced on marionette strings. She watches right back, feels his blue eyes burn as she grounds her feet on the floor and shoves back against him, meeting his hips with smacks of skin and it's chasing those slaps that finally sets Daryl loose.

She feels the moment like a switch flips inside him; one moment he's moving inside her, long and slow, and the next he's ripping her hand from his shoulder-blade and pinning it above her head. He grins as her eyes widen, and she doesn't think she's ever seen so many of his teeth at once.

“Touch yourself, girl, come on,” he whispers, leaning down to bite her ear lobe and then down her neck, reaching her breast just as her fingers reach her clit. She lets out a breathy gasp as his mouth finds her nipple through the shirt, a shirt she's been wearing since yesterday but he doesn't seem to care as he bites at the pebbling flesh, hips faster and pounding as her hand speeds up on her clit. His thrusts push her own hand deeper into her cunt and she rolls up with her knuckles just to feel him press down harder. He growls, thumb digging into her wrist as he rips away from her breast and pants open-mouthed above her.

“You're gonna come again, Beth,” he says, making her groan and close her eyes. They shoot open again when he releases her wrist to tangle his hand in her hair, pulling just enough to hurt. “You're _gonna_ come again.” He sounds desperate, almost more desperate for it than she is and fuck if that doesn’t turn her on more.

“Make me come, then.”

She doesn't know where that came from but he seems to like it; he groans loudly and buries his head in her shoulder as he continues to thrust, chests pressed together as he snaps his hips, pounding her into the filthy wood floor as she twists at her clit and he grabs her breast and it's a rough swipe of his thumb across her nipple that sends her screaming over the edge.

It goes on so long he has to slap a hand over her mouth to shut her up, and she's still shaking when he drags himself out of her to come across her belly.

He collapses on top of her, pressing her into the floor and driving the breath from her body, but she doesn't ask him to move yet. Sighing, she runs her hands up and down his sides beneath his shirt; he mumbles happily before groaning and rolling off of her, landing on his back with a grunt.

It takes a few minutes before either of them move, and then it's only Daryl pulling up his pants, forgoing the zipper for now, and rolling onto his side to look at her. Beth enjoys the heat of his gaze on her face for a few moments before acknowledging him, turning her head until her cheek presses into the filthy floor. He holds her gaze a few moments before she bursts into giggles. He's scowling when she opens her eyes, and it only makes her laugh harder.

“The fuck's so funny?” he asks. “Thought I lasted pretty well...”

“Oh, Daryl, no, I'm not laughing at you,” she says, shaking her head and trying to calm down. She can't help the little hiccups of laughter that bubble up, but the way Daryl's looking at her tells her he doesn't mind it. “I'm just thinkin'—I don't think that's how my daddy would treat a snakebite.”

It takes a beat, but then Daryl's smirking along with her. It takes her back to when he was between her legs, and her breath hitches.

“Got the Dixon special treatment, ya did,” he says, voice low, smirking that smirk.

What can she do but lean in and kiss him.

* * *

When they get back to the prison, late in the evening and covered in strategic streaks of dirt, Maggie fusses over Beth like usual, dragging her away from Daryl so she can get the bite looked at properly. Hershel repeats Daryl’s prognosis: long as it doesn't get infected, she'll be perfectly fine. It isn't any more than she already knew, but she smiles at him anyway.

It's only when he turns to the line of splinters in her hand—splinters she hadn't even noticed till the walk back; that she realizes she must have gotten when she gripped the chair as Daryl ate her out—that she feels the heat begin to creep up her neck, and her explanation of tripping and landing on her hand is almost too stammered to be taken seriously. It doesn't help that Daryl passes the cell as she’s trying to explain; Daryl, just back from the shower, in a sleeveless shirt and low-slung jeans, the marks from her teeth burned proudly into his hip.

He pauses to look at her over Hershel’s shoulder as Hershel finishes cleaning her up. She's always found Daryl handsome, would always have been flustered to see him like this; but now she's had him. The mark on his hip (on his chest, his shoulder, the arch of his neck) tells her she’s had him. That he’s hers. She sits back and lets her eyes drift across his body, looking her fill.

When she gets back to his face, his eyes are sparkling. Slowly, very slowly, he bares his teeth, runs his tongue across the points. She shivers, and when Hershel asks, she blames it on the cold.

Daryl knows. She can't wait to get bitten again.

**Author's Note:**

> Just a PSA: THIS IS THE WORST WAY TO TREAT A SNAKE BITE. THE ABSOLUTE WORSE. DO THIS AND YOU WILL DIE.
> 
> Actually though, I looked this up and not only is sucking the poison not effective, you're supposed to lower the patient's heart rate. Daryl does the complete opposite. Don't get bitten by a snake around Daryl.
> 
> (Or do. Your life or your pussy, up to you)


End file.
